


Status Quo

by lantadyme



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-16
Updated: 2012-07-16
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:36:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantadyme/pseuds/lantadyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike and Julie go out to a bar. Mike wears a skirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Status Quo

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme fill.

Deluxe had been one color of clothing, one style. Military issue whites for years and years of his life, never anything else. Even now he catches himself lacing his boots in the same regulation way, laces too long and knotted just so, the ends and the aglets tucked behind the tongue to keep them from falling free. Even now he catches himself cuffing the hems of his trousers to keep them from fraying under his heels. Sometimes his hands still go to zip up his jacket to regulations standards. He tucks in his shirt because that's how it's always been done and there's no other way. 

And he'd always been one to push the boundaries with the popped collar and the smirk, his eyes on Kane and never on his more immediate superiors if he could just impress The Big Man that one yard more. But the brainwashing in Deluxe was everywhere and he's fallen to so much more of it than he'd ever imagined.

Motorcity is different. Motorcity isn't one bland flavor of pristine white servitude. Down here, every single person has the acrid taste of Deluxe in their mouths, whether they'd been born up there or not. Motorcity is a city of people reinvented, people who came down from that boring oppressive blank slate and went wild in the darkness, in the eccentricities they can express now that they're finally free. 

The day's gone dead. He's done all of Jacob's chores and everything else that's expected of him. The streetlights blink down to a nighttime dim. In his room, Mike kicks off his boots, shrugs out of his trousers and rifles through his closet for something else to wear. The skirts are all pleated, cotton soft and the same brown he always wears. They're not short or feminine. It hits at just above the knee, and Motorcity is cold this time of year so he pulls on striped legwarmers to match the short blue heels Julie bought him, just his size. He keeps the jacket. It's his signature, after all.

Chuck is asleep on the counter and snoring softly when Mike walks out. Dutch is already gone, probably to tag one of his haunts and leave a perfect piece of artwork behind before the morning rush starts up again. Texas is covered in grease and grime, Stronghorn's hood popped as he tries to wrestle the coughing supercharge back into working order. 

"You seen Julie?" Mike calls down to him, just softly enough to let Chuck sleep.

Texas tries to wipe dust off his face but ends up instead smearing a long streak of black grease along his cheek instead. "Nah, I saw her a while ago but you know how she disappears." He sniffs, stares back at his engine for a moment, then points the wrench in his left hand Mike's way without looking up. "You look nice, Mike. The legwarmers are a nice touch."

Hands in the pockets of his jacket, Mike shrugs. "I'm gonna go ahead and guess you're not coming out with us tonight, then?"

"Nah, I still have to figure this out or I'll lose that bet I made with Dutch and that'd be totally humiliating. Texas doesn't do humiliating. Not gonna happen. You guys go have fun though!"

"All right. Do me a favor and drag Chuck to his room before you go light's out?"

"Sure thing, Mike!" 

Mike takes the steps down to street level and finds Julie sitting casually on the edge of 9Lives' hood, picking at her nails. She's less than twenty yards from Texas, and Mike can't help but laugh at how short their friend's attention span is. "Hey," he says. Julie waves. 

She's got a sleek cabbie-yellow dress on, black-and-white checks down the sides and over the shoulders. Short and cute. Black combat boots and a heavy black cargo vest to match her lipstick. She smiles and hops down to the ground. "You ready?"

"Yep. No Texas."

"I heard." 

They each drive their own cars. Mutt's worn leather seats are smooth on his legs. Mike kicks off his right heel and drives barefoot, grinning into the open-window breeze as he and Julie race each other to Antonio's. She cuts him off, sticks her tongue out at him, shoots on ahead and leaves him in a cloud of kicked up gravel. She's got torque on him with her electric engine but Mutt is putty in Mike's expert hands and he catches up, blows past her laughing and makes it to the parking lot first, burning long lines of rubber into the pavement to break. Julie pulls up beside him and gets out, and Mike slips back into his shoes before he cracks the door and steps out on the asphalt. 

"You never let me win," she says around a smile, and Mike just shrugs. 

"Got a reputation to keep up, Jules."

She ignores the tease, heading off across the parking lot instead of waiting for him. Antonio's is closed this time of night, the doors all locked and the windows covered in steel security mesh. But the bar kitty-corner to the diner is still open and will be all night, the music already pumping and the lot half full of cars abandoned for the dancefloor inside. Mike pats Mutt's roof once and takes off after Julie.

Deluxe never had music like this. Never had all the styles of clothing and hair and make up, the drinks and the passion that oozes from every corner of this little hole in the wall. Colored lights spin on the walls, the speakers pumping, dancers moving, the entire building a refuge of free expression and free will and everything that's so contrary to what Deluxe stands for. 

They both wave to the bouncer who passes them through, eyeing the Burner's symbol on Mike's jacket with a little stroke of pride. They can't drink, but they're welcome all the same. 

Julie disappears into the press of the crowd, weaving her way toward the bar and the food, hungry as always. He'll join her, but Mike steps back for a moment, stands up tall to take all of it in, the bar frenetic around him. 

It's not something he thought about before leaving Deluxe. He'd never caught himself eyeing the clothes and wishing for something different from his military trousers, the sturdy flat soles of his regulation boots. And he's still got plenty of trousers and boots in his wardrobe, all of them colors other than white. But Motorcity is a society of every kind of misfit, welcoming to all, and now sometimes he wants the rush of something different than that template Kane tried to derive him into. Something to flaunt in the face of all those bitter memories. 

Guys don't wear skirts up in Deluxe. It would probably result in fines and violence and prison time. Which is exactly why down here, in this snug little bar with the music up so loud and laughter in the air, so many of them are decked out in skirts. In cute shoes and neon colors and punk clothes, the girls pushing the limits of so-called gendered clothing just the same. It's not only this bar, either. It's out in the streets and the supermarkets, freedom worn proud and painted everywhere in stark contrast to the regulations and expectations of Deluxe. 

And he's not one to wear a skirt all the time, but on occasion he gets this fond itch to step in and share their spiteful little joys. 

Julie appears again, a can of soda in each hand. She offers him one. It sweats against Mike's palm as he takes it and sips around a smile. 

"I ordered some food. It'll be like twenty minutes."

"Burgers?"

"Of course," she says. "In the mean time, you want to dance?"

Mike laughs and takes her free hand. "You know I do."


End file.
